He wasn’t expecting her to move so fast—not physically, but with that sudden shift in energy. One moment they were standing by the edge of the bed, his hand halfway raised as if to help or to suggest… something. Then he made the mistake of trying to take the lead.
He began to rise from the mattress, but her hand found his chest first.
“Don’t,” she said quietly—barely louder than a breath, but it held more command than any shout.
He froze.
With a firm, steady push, she pressed him back down. Not violently—just undeniably. He obeyed, surprised at how easily he folded beneath her touch. She stood tall over him now, her figure outlined by the soft lamplight, her breath calm, her intention unmistakable.
Then, her fingers reached behind her neck.
There was no hesitation. She pulled the dress up slightly… then let it fall. Slowly. Controlled. One shoulder, then the other. It slid off her like silk across glass, pooling at her ankles without a sound.
She never broke eye contact.
He swallowed hard, hands gripping the edge of the bed without realizing. She stepped between his knees and let her hands rest lightly on his thighs—not asking, not waiting. Her bare skin radiated heat, but it was the authority in her movement that truly pinned him.
She wasn’t seducing him. She was claiming him.
And he knew then—he had no say in how this night would unfold.
Only the privilege of watching it happen.